Spray Hitting in the Spring

By Tom Callahan

Starting new or starting over, spinning pitches and daydreams

If spring is a season for aging veterans and hopeful rookies, this is a particularly auspicious time for Tom Seaver, who is both. After almost six years in Cincinnati, Seaver is back where he began, with the New York Mets, who promise to be as dreadful as they were when Seaver was a rookie in 1967, the last time they lost 100 games. The question is not whether he will win again at 38, just whether he will pitch well again after a 5-13 year that aged a lot of people a little.

Now, age in baseball is a delicate matter. Pitchers, especially, grip the edges of their careers like the seams of the baseball, and dig in their fingernails. For example Gaylord Perry, 44, of Seattle, whose next victory will be his 308th, bad news for Charles ("Old Hoss") Radbourn, about to be bumped to 13th after 91 years. Jim Kaat, 44, of the St. Louis Cardinals bullpen, is approaching his 25th big-league campaign, dabbling with a new pitch, trying his hand as a submariner. The most enchanting apparition of the spring is Masanori ("Mashi") Murakami, a Japanese lefthander who mystically reappeared with the San Francisco Giants. Mashi has more English now than the all-purpose phrase "Take a hike," taught to him by his San Francisco teammates in 1965, the year of his short, happy spin through American baseball, when his record was 4-1. Patriotism required Murakami's presence in Japan all the seasons since, but now he is back in a cactus camp, no more inclined to take a hike than his former teammate Perry, and no older than Seaver.

Seaver is perched on the edge of a training table in St. Petersburg, Fla., after pitching five innings against Toronto, allowing four runs in the second inning but none in the others. There is that signature streak of dirt on Seaver's pant leg below his right knee, residue from the relentless scraping of an unchanging delivery. He has not changed so much at that. Most young throwers get to the major leagues with "good stuff' and only fall back on pitching later. But Seaver could always pitch.

In the absence of his fastball, he has been moving the ball around at varying speeds. His shining eyes make it silly to ask if pitching is still fun for him, but he answers anyway. "It's more complicated than fun," he says, "more sophisticated than that. But fun, yes. I brought my slider out of the closet today, and I've been moving my sinker in and away. I feel good. There are puzzles to work out, but it's enjoyable work." He is a devotee of puzzles, particularly the crosswords in the New York Times, and has come across himself on occasion. "Bench's battery-mate." He lets out a laugh, one of his high-pitched cackles. Johnny Bench still toils in Cincinnati, but he's not a catcher any more, and Bench's battery-mate is back in New York City, mostly to drum up customers, maybe to prepare himself for what he considers a "cerebral challenge"--managing.

Casey Stengel's linguistic heir, Sparky Anderson, calls it something else. "Managing is always saying 'I think,' never saying 'I know,' " says the Detroit manager, sunning in a grandstand in Lakeland, Fla., where the Los Angeles Dodgers are visiting. Then he delivers his wonderful annual capsule analysis of the Tigers. "I ain't kidding now. This is an outstanding baseball team that I'll match against anybody in baseball--front line. They'll take their hacks at you. But then, there's a problem. You got to get the other side out. If 'I think' don't turn into 'I know,' I just don't know."

Across the meadow, Tommy Lasorda is singing about the Dodgers' latest "pheenoms": Greg Brock, a 25-year-old first baseman who has played four years in the minor leagues and 33 days in the majors, and Mike Marshall, a 23-year-old rightfielder who has never played the position before. "Tommy is good with young players," Anderson says. "They haven't heard his stories yet."

". . . And so out from the jungle--this is the Dominican Republic now--comes the ball on the fly to home plate. Into the woods runs our scout, and there was this kid, Jose Gonzalez--" Lasorda presents a strapping 6-ft. 2-in. outfielder whose uniform number, 77, signals that he is a farm hand. "Just 18 years old!" Lasorda exclaims. "See, we grow our own." It is a fact that the Dodgers have provided the National League's past four Rookies of the Year, and the candidate of the moment is Brock, who on the strength of 17 major-league at-bats has been handed Steve Garvey's old position. Indirectly, Marshall is replacing Third Baseman Ron Cey, Pedro Guerrero having transferred there from rightfield to make room for Marshall. Lasorda has told both newcomers, "When I replaced Walter Alston six years ago, all I heard was that I was replacing a legend. I said, 'I'm not worried about replacing a legend. I'm worried about the guy who has to replace me.' "

Garvey is the Dodger bat boy who grew up to be the star of the team. For something like $6.6 million over five years, he is now the star of San Diego's team. Cey has joined the Chicago Cubs. While Brock hit home runs last year in Albuquerque, he has a worried look, and the constant mention of Garvey's name is wearing. If that isn't enough, Duke Snider's name is being invoked too, as in "the best power-hitting prospect since Duke Snider." Brock will be lucky if no one brings up Gil Hodges.

Much more carefree, Marshall is living the California fantasy, a Dodger darling dating the lead singer of the Go-Go's, Belinda Carlisle. "I'm still at the stage where I can get to the car without signing too many autographs," he says amiably. "She's the one who takes a half-hour." Marshall was a sixth-round choice in 1978, Brock a 13th-rounder in 1979. In 1965, Rick Monday was the first pick in the first draft, and he is a utility man yet at 37. "When I was the phenom, everywhere I went, I could hear people say, 'Let's see how good he is.' My locker will be next to Brock's. With a word here and there, maybe I can help him; Marshall too. But nobody can tell you what it takes to make it. It comes from within."

Not letting loose of it even for a day seems important now to Pete Rose, almost 42, bothered by the Phillies' predisposition to rest him occasionally this season. But his dismay is blunted by his happiness at being back in the company of old Cincinnati comrades Joe Morgan, 39, and Tony Perez, 40. Besides, Rose has a plan. "Whenever I'm out of the lineup, I'll drive [Manager] Pat Corrales so nuts he'll have to get me out of the dugout. My edge has always been to play every day, to try to lead the league in hits, doubles, runs scored."

A bright little man who was a whirlwind for the Reds in the '70s, Morgan believes modestly that he will be Rose's edge this year. "Pete will want to prove to Joe Morgan he can still play, just as I want to show Pete Rose I can still play." Their clubhouse method of staying loose is to ridicule each other and everyone else fondly, but often mercilessly. How this will play in Philadelphia, where feelings are fragile, should be interesting. "When you kid around," says Perez, who supplies the perspective, as usual, "you become a friend, not just a teammate."

This spring the mood is said to be greatly improved in the Baltimore clubhouse: retired Manager Earl Weaver has given up rhubarbs for tomatoes. Owner Edward Bennett Williams calls the withdrawal process "de-Weaverization," a happier state under congenial Joe Altobelli, though the results are what will tell. "Finally," Pitcher Jim Palmer says, "we're going to find out if we won despite Earl or because of him." The Yankees' clubhouse is filled, once again, with strangers, Steve Kemp, Don Baylor, a few other expensive new hands, prompting Third Baseman Graig Nettles to remark: "Every year, staying here is like getting traded." So Billy Martin's third term begins.

Labor Leader Marvin Miller has retired. Fewer cranky voices have been heard this spring, but there is no less talk of money. In recognition of cutting a billion-dollar deal with television, Commissioner Bowie Kuhn has been mentioned as a possible successor to Bowie Kuhn. The new diet fad, "weight clauses," has been somewhat annoying to fans who regard being in shape as the minimum requirement for being a professional athlete. Every Friday home game this season that Atlanta Third Base man Bob Horner does not warp the scale past 215 Ibs., he gains $7,692.31. Ozzie Smith, the Cardinals' nimble shortstop, doubled his salary to $1 million. Fernando Valenzuela also won $1 milion, in arbitration against the Dodgers. Steve Carlton's, reaction was to renegotiate an even richer deal with the Phillies, making him the highest-paid pitcher in baseball ($1.15 million). After an off-year once, Carlton volunteered to renegotiate a contract downward and was accommodated, so this was a square deal. He needs 75 strikeouts to break Walter Johnson's record of 3,508, but then Gaylord Perry requires just 57 and Houston's Nolan Ryan merely 15.

Seaver will overtake Johnson in another way with one pitch if Tom opens for the Mets against the Phillies next week. It would be his 14th opening day and tie the record. Seaver never won one for the Reds, never lost one for the Mets. The first pitch on opening day is like the first horn on New Year's Eve. And it does not have to be a fastball. --By Tom Callahan This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.